


God's Eyes

by flyingisland



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: God complexes, Hate Sex, Izuo - Freeform, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6899440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingisland/pseuds/flyingisland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Izaya is gentle, sometimes he's anything but kind, but more often than not, Shizuo doesn't understand him at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemoninagin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoninagin/gifts).



The first time that they do it, Izaya isn’t gentle.

He’s dragging his nails along Shizuo’s skin, pressing in deeply with little warning and a hiss so loud in Shizuo’s ear that he nearly pulls away. They’re on their hands and knees—at least Shizuo is—hunched over and biting back curses as Izaya buries himself inside and laughs—

_“So tight that it almost hurts, Shizu-chan.”_

There’s blood on his lips. Shizuo pulled his punch when he knocked him in the mouth, but it still connected. He’d reeled back momentarily, bobbing back up like a punching bag and cackling like a madman. Neither of them are really sure how they ended up in this situation. Neither of them seem to care.

Shizuo is digging his fingers into the wood floor, scraping his nails along it, sweaty forehead pressed down as he struggles to stop himself from throwing Izaya off and storming out of the bastard’s apartment.

Izaya is all grins and laughter. His voice floats in the air above them like some sort of wind-up melody—bubbling over only when Shizuo works him up enough that he needs to pretend that he has the upper hand here, that he’s fooled Shizuo into doing this somehow, and maybe that Shizuo will go home and consider this some sort of assault. He won’t because it’s not. This is nothing more than enemies letting off steam. He is more than capable of flipping Izaya over and taking the lead, but he won’t do that either.

He can already imagine the sound of those bony hips cracking in his grip. He can hear the howls of pain, feel the skin tearing and the blood pooling on the floor. He’s never done anything like this with anyone else, and maybe Izaya is the only one who he’ll ever be touched by like this. Maybe he’s the only one strong enough to press Shizuo down on the floor, to slide inside of him.

Maybe Shizuo really is so unworthy of love that this is all that he’ll ever get.

When it’s over, Izaya doesn’t touch him. He’s pushed all the way inside, cumming with a strangled groan and something that Shizuo is sure is supposed to be a mocking jeer of his name. Shizuo leaves still half-hard.

Izaya tells him, _“As though I would ever touch a monster.”_

And that’s that.

They don’t speak about it for weeks. They don’t see each other at all. Izaya avoids Ikebukuro like a plague for twenty-one days exactly, and Shizuo wonders if maybe he should have slept with him years ago, if this is all it takes to keep him away.

Eventually, Izaya finds his way back into Shizuo’s clutches. They’re fighting, Izaya is running away, leaping higher, moving just a little too quickly to grasp. Then they’re scrambling in an abandoned building, Izaya stuck with so many splinters after being thrown through the boards obscuring one of the windows. They’re bloody and Shizuo is pissed. He’s holding Izaya’s head against the floor, spitting out curses and only pulling back when Izaya’s hand somehow finds its way to the fly of his pants.

Izaya is dipping inside of him soon after, whispering cruel words in his ear, “A monster only understands violence and sex, right? Which do you really prefer _, monster_?”

And Shizuo is allowing himself to be swept away. He’s dragging his cheek against shards of broken glass on the floor. He’s tasting blood, strings of saliva slipping through needy lips as Izaya snakes a hand around him and tugs at his eager erection.

 _As though he would ever touch a monster_ , Shizuo scoffs. He’s keening, pressing himself ever-firmer against Izaya’s hips, breathing clouds of dust against the floor and stifling the loudest of the noises that threaten to rattle through him.

Izaya stills for only a moment, leaning forward and ghosting his lips along the back of Shizuo’s shoulder. It’s an odd move, especially from someone like Izaya—tender, almost, and Shizuo is filled with discomfort. He doesn’t know how to react.

He doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to feel.

The moment is lost seconds later. Izaya is pulling out, shoving roughly back in. Shizuo is thrown forward, dragged back. It might hurt if he had any sense of that anymore. It might humiliate anyone else.

But Shizuo takes it. He takes it and he doesn’t complain.

After all, it’s the best he’s going to get.

 

* * *

 

  
Days inch into weeks, and weeks melt into months. Izaya stops by every few days. They fuck more than they fight, but there are no less bruises, no less scrapes. Sometimes, Izaya stops right in the middle. Sometimes he makes Shizuo roll over so he can look at him.

“Such an ugly face,” he breathes, eyes hooded and smile scripted and hollow, “I hate even looking at it.”

Shizuo tells him not to look then, but Izaya sneers as though he’s the only one in on a good joke. He tells Shizuo that the only thing that makes this worth it is hearing the horrible noises that he makes, feeling him clenching up when he cums. Izaya tells him that he’s a hard person to sleep with, probably even harder to love.

He tells him, “No one else will ever want to do this with you.”

Which Shizuo thinks might be a confession. He’s not sure, he hasn’t fully grasped the translations of Izaya’s words, but he does understand that Izaya rarely says what he means to say. He never lets too much slip through the cracks of his façade, and so…

Sometimes Shizuo thinks that Izaya might be falling in love with him.

He finds small gifts in his mailbox—boxes of chocolate with no return address, gift cards to random restaurants with obscene amounts of money loaded on them. Sometimes there are bottles of wine wrapped up in fancy paper on his doorstep. Sometimes there are magazines and books about detectives. No one knows so much about him but Kasuka, and maybe anyone sneaky enough to keep tabs on him.

It’s not hard to figure out who that might be.

He ignores it as well as he can. He allows Izaya to sneak into his house on especially quiet and lonely nights. They fuck roughly, Izaya is never quite kind. He still says mean things that might make a weaker man cry. He still drags his nails along Shizuo’s skin as though either of them are stupid enough to think that it feels anything more than annoying.

They’re sleeping together one evening three months later. Izaya is looming over him, pushing too many fingers inside, pumping at him with such fervor that he has to brace himself against the headboard in order to stay upright.

And Izaya stops, stays still for a long time, pulls his fingers away and wipes them on the sheets. Shizuo turns to yell at him for that, to chide him for having no respect for other people’s things, but there’s something flickering across Izaya’s sickening smile that roots him to the spot.

He can’t describe it. Izaya isn’t looking at him. He’s staring off into the shadows in the corner of the room, at Shizuo’s dirty laundry piled up in the basket. He’s tracing his fingers on the sheets. His mouth is a stiff line, his shoulder taught with stress as those eyes—

They’re glassy and unfocused. Shizuo has never seen him like this before.

“Shizu-chan,” he speaks suddenly, still not looking up as his words stab blindly in the darkness, “Why do you put up with this?”

Shizuo doesn’t have time to speak before he continues. He doesn’t think that he would have been able to come up with anything to say anyway.

“Do you really hate yourself that much?”

Shizuo swallows the growing lump in his throat. He rolls over onto his backside, legs pulled to his chest as the last stiffness of his erection fades away.

He isn’t sure what to say, but Izaya looks like he’s waiting for a reply. He seems as though he might sit there forever, wide eyed in the darkness and begging for a reason. Just waiting for Shizuo to explain to him just how much he hates himself, and just how desperately he craves the attention of another person, even if they only ever hurt him.

“I don’t know,” Shizuo sighs, dragging a hand through his hair in his frustration with his own inability to describe these feelings, “Do you really think anyone else is going to sleep with me?”

Izaya hums, that troubling look still staining his features. He’s tugging his gaze from the corner to the floor, from the floor to the bed in front of him, but he still doesn’t look at Shizuo. His fingers never stop moving against the sheets.

“Do you believe in God, Shizu-chan?”

They don’t sleep together that night.

He doesn’t answer Izaya’s question.

Instead, he rises, gathering his clothes and getting dressed, and he tells Izaya when he’s finally fully clothed and towering over the bed, “Get out.”

Izaya leaves, slowly. He slinks away like a wounded animal.

He doesn’t return for a week and a half.

And Shizuo lives his life. He settles into his routine again, beats up debtors during the day, smokes cigarettes on his breaks, drinks himself to sleep more nights than he goes to bed sober.

He’s comfortable in this loneliness, until Izaya decides to sneak back in again.

It’s a normal day, a normal evening. Nothing is more or less annoying than usual. No one is more or less afraid of him, more or less kind. Tom-san still talks to him about his love life, about Kasuka, about so many things that his lies are too jumbled with the truth for him to keep either straight.

No one needs to know that he and Izaya are sleeping together. No one needs to see this weakness in his heart. And so, he tells himself that it’s okay to lie. It’s okay to tell Tom-san that he’s not seeing anyone, because is he? Could he consider whatever is going on between him and Izaya anything similar to a relationship?

Surely not. It’s confusing and it’s all-consuming, and it’s definitely not healthy.

He’s walking home from work when he spots Izaya. He’s not being particular stealthy, just wandering causally by. Shizuo doesn’t even bother brandishing a weapon. He doesn’t try to call out. He walks forward and Izaya finds him easily. He’s been waiting, surely. He’s memorized all of Shizuo’s favorite routes back to his apartment.

They walk together in silence. Izaya gives no indication that he’s still sore about getting booted out last time and Shizuo definitely isn’t willing to bring it up. They walk to his place, look anywhere but at each other during the elevator ride. Shizuo unlocks his door and steps inside, leaving it ajar and waiting for Izaya to lock it before moving further into the room.

They don’t speak at all, but Izaya’s hand find him. His nails don’t dig into Shizuo’s skin. His hands don’t pull just a little too roughly against the buttons of his uniform. Izaya sheds his clothes the way that people do in the movies, with a loving care that makes Shizuo feel a little too naked in the middle of his living room. He almost covers himself up, but he thinks that this might be some sort of plot to humiliate him, and so he lets it happen. He lets the events unfold. He doesn’t argue or pull away when Izaya begins to kiss the scar marked in ugly infamy across his chest.

“This is mine, isn’t it?” Izaya questions, no humor in his tone as his eyes find Shizuo’s and everything feels a little too raw.

He nods. His voice is caught somewhere deep down in his throat, tangled in his vocal cords like a trapped bird as his pulse thrums like wings in his ribcage.

“Shizu-chan doesn’t understand,” Izaya hums against his skin, tender fingers working his underwear down his hips, coaxing him toward the couch, “In a God’s eyes, everyone is beautiful.”

He doesn’t like the sound of these words, searing like hot irons in his ears, burning trails straight into his swiftly beating heart. He doesn’t like any of this at all.

Vulnerable, stuck. He wants to go back to the hate, to the hurt, to anything that feels less real and less tender than this.

“Even monsters,” Izaya laughs darkly, pushing Shizuo down onto the couch and pointedly ignoring the miserable creak of it, “Everyone is worthy of their maker’s love.”

He didn’t invite Izaya into his home for a sermon. Definitely not one like this. He’s positive that Izaya doesn’t believe in anything like that, and he wouldn’t say that he does either. Long ago, maybe, he would have blamed a God for making him a beast. He might have banged bitter fists against the ground and cried. He might have begged whichever entity that might be watching to cure him, but now—

He feels nothing like that at all. If God is watching, he’s silent. He can’t do anything for either of them anymore.

“Giving you this pleasure and taking it away,” Izaya continues, tone only growing deeper, so quiet that Shizuo can barely even hear him anymore, “That might make me your God, right?”

They’re kissing. Izaya is standing over him, always loving the power of being on top of another person, always so manipulative and horrible, and always giving Shizuo the pain that he deserves.

But not now. Now, he’s too gentle, too soft. His kisses feel like smoke against Shizuo’s lips. His fingers are cold and smooth, working softly through his hair, stroking carefully at his cheeks.

“Maybe that means that I love you.”

Shizuo pretends that he didn’t say anything at all. He squirms in a grip that doesn’t grasp at him too hard, that never falters and never seems to allow itself to hurt him.

Izaya slips inside carefully. He uses so many less fingers than usual, so much less force. They’re both on the couch, Izaya on top of him, missionary of all positions in this fucked up situation, breathing hot clouds on each other’s skin as Shizuo closes his eyes if only so he won’t have to look into Izaya’s face.

Izaya whispers to him, only kind words which send needles of heat burning white hot through his veins.

Words that hurt entirely too much to hear.

“Beautiful Shizu-chan, beautiful monster… God loves you, don’t you see?”

Shizuo is rattled with so many indescribable emotions when he cums. There’s a moisture clinging to his lashes, a thickness in his throat and an aching in his chest. He doesn’t look at Izaya afterward. He doesn’t speak to anyone until he goes to work the very next day.

There’s a bouquet of flowers on his doorstep when he returns home.

And Izaya is back, later that evening.

Shizuo lets him in, and he doesn’t know what he expects.

But Izaya is only gentler than before. The weeks pass by, the months meld into a year.

Someday, Shizuo finds himself accepting this love, these words, the realization that maybe he deserves this.

And maybe even later on, he realizes that he might just love Izaya too.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was supposed to be a birthday present for the always lovely lemoninagin, but then I actually read through it and realized how terribly depressing it was, and... I felt so bad. So this is a pre-birthday present. A happier Izuo fic will come tomorrow for the actual birthday, but this one was actually interesting to write, so I felt bad just not posting it at all.
> 
> This ended up kind of tender, I guess? Just very strange. It's hard making Izaya nice. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm so sorry! I hope you liked it anyway!


End file.
